Page 187 of Going Viral for Christmas
And even better, I plundered the entire prop station, treating it as my own personal treasure hoard. I’m not proud. Actually, that’s a lie—I’m incredibly proud. Somewhere in my suitcase is a sparkly candy cane tie, two Santa hats, the aforementioned antlers, a suspiciously phallic snow globe, and one single velvet glove I’ve decided to keep for reasons I will not be explaining.
Now, here Ava and I are, on the bed—after some of the most intense sex I, for one, haveever had.
We’re curled in sheets and each other. Ava’s pressed against my side, one leg slung over mine, her fingertips drawing lazy circles on my chest, etching her name into my soul.
We’re existing. Breathing the same air. Skin to skin. Glowing.
I’m dangerously close to asking her if we can live here now. Right here, in this bed, in this moment. Forever.
Then she says it—softly, but not accidentally. “So… what are we going to do about that Lena chick?”
Fuck.
I keep my breathing steady, but inside, every one of my organs winces in unison. I was hoping this wouldn’t come up, but of course it did. Of course, Ava would ask.
Shifting to gaze down at her. “She’s noise. She’ll fade. You and me—we’re what matters.”
Ava lifts her head, eyes searching mine. “Is there more to you and her than what you’ve told me? It seems strange that she would be so extra with her scorch-earth shit if the two of you were only together once.”
The question’s fair. Reasonable, even. But it lands disgustingly hard in my gut—a punch thrown by someone who knows precisely where the bruise is hiding.
I take Ava’s face into my hands. “Lena and I have zero history. One night. One mistake.”One too many times in a single goddamn evening.“I told you. It wasn’t romantic. Or meaningful. Or anything close to what I have with you. But it happened. She tried to come back for seconds this past summer, and I told her no. Now she’s making it everyone’s problem. I wish more than anything I could erasethatmistake.”
Ava studies me a second longer than I’d like.
I move one hand to her back, trace a line down her spine. “She likes attention. And drama. She can’t stand being told no, apparently. And she hates that you stole a spotlight she never even had.”
Ava doesn’t press. She settles back into the crook of my arm and hums a soft, thoughtful sound, resting her cheek on my chest again.
“I love you.”
She still doesn’t say it back.
I kiss the top of her head, eyes fixed on theceiling. And I promise myself—it will resolve itself. Lena will disappear. I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing from the start. Whittling away at every last wall, Ava Bell thinks she needs to survive.
An hour later, room service arrives. Breakfast should not feel like aftercare. Yet here we are, basking in the glow of culinary comfort and recent sexual relations as two vainglorious criminals sipping overpriced lattes and pretending we didn’t defile an entire holiday photo booth sponsored by a romance imprint and their corporate partners.
I look at Ava—eyes still sleepy, lips still kiss-swollen, hair a beautiful mess—and all I can think is:I’m fucking gone.
Honestly, I don’t even want to be saved.
Ava takes a sip of her peppermint mocha, still flushed and warm from the night before, and I catch myself.
I said Girlfriend earlier.
Fantasy-hating, mayhem-bringing, mind-melting… girlfriend.
I freeze.
Girlfriend?
Shit. I said that without thinking. Not out loud—but still. That’s a word—aloadedone.
I mean… we travel together. Sleep together. Text like lunatics when we’re apart. Which is practically never. I’ve met everyone from her terrifying agent to her aggressively endearing grandmother. I’ve worn her shirt. I’ve watched her cry. We binged Twilight together. I’ve told her I love her. We do all the things couples do. We just haven’t… labeled it as anything else.
My thumb taps the side of my mug. I should let it go. Let it stay easy. Let the definition remain vague so no one gets spooked.
Ava peers at me over her cup with those sleep-heavy eyes and that wild, no-one-else-gets-this smile and?—
